


To Fall In Love With A Lion

by thelordofstarsanddreams



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOWAR, Angst, Bisexuality, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Character, F/F, Family Issues, Gay Panic, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian Sex, Morrigan's History, Morrigan/Andromache are my new jam, Original Mortal Queens, Pre-ACOTAR, Pre-Feyre, Pre-Wall, This is their story, Unhappy Ending, Violence, War, You haven't been paying attention, acowar spoilers, if you think this has a happy ending, the first war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelordofstarsanddreams/pseuds/thelordofstarsanddreams
Summary: “The Morrigan,” The one in the middle spoke; the eldest, she presumed. “We too appreciate your swift arrival, and the gesture offered by your court. We look forward to discussing terms of this Treaty with you and ending this war.”It sounded like the script of a play, written down and rehearsed, and maybe it was the tight tone in the middle Queens voice, but Mor had trouble believe she was pleased to have them here. Desperate times, desperate measures.“Tomorrow,” It wasn't the middle queen that spoke this time, but one of the Queens on the end. She looked smaller somehow. Younger. The Queen to her left shot her a look that read of her displeasure at the woman speaking out. Mor's gaze lingered on her. A mane of golden hair framed her dark face, where amber eyes were framed by thick lashes. The panes of her face were fresh with youth, and peppered with freckles. A lion in a kitten's clothing. That was the thought that went through her mind. There was something about her. The way those amber eyes lingered on her. Unfaltering. Daring. It made Mor pause.**ACoWaR Spoilers**





	1. A First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to put together a time line of Mor/Andromache's love story. The small amount we got in ACOWAR was enough to make me want more. This will be multiple chapters, following through the First War and perhaps glimpses afterwards, but mostly focusing on the different moments of their relationship. Hope you enjoy it!

When the Night Court had extended their alliance to the Mortal lands, they could have never been certain of the outcome. Despite having already helped human soldiers on the front lines, there was no guarantee that the Mortal Queens would accept their offer for an alliance in the name of peace. The humans had every right to be wary of Fae. Yet almost three weeks after they had sent their proposal, they had received an invitation to palace of the Queens, to negotiate the terms of the alliance and how best to bring about the end of this war. 

It hadn't been an easy decision when evaluating who to send. Ideally, Rhysand would have gone, but with the man leading legions in the name of his father, he wasn't an option, nor were Cassian and Azriel. 

In fact, Morrigan had been a last option. A disgraced, outcast of the Hewn City wasn't ideal, not by the High Lords standards, or by many of the higher ups within the Court, particularly her father, who was even more repulsed by the notion of his disowned daughter striking an alliance with humans none the less. Yet a few compelling letters from Rhysand and it was decided that she was worthy of being the emissary they needed. 

Already, Mor had shed blood on the field of battle, but she was just as lethal with her words and her gift of truth. 

That was how she ended up here. In the shiny, marble hall of the Mortal Queens palace. An escort made up of a solid fifty men and woman with her. It was the most that they could afford to spare with battles raging across Prythian. Yet it was still a show of strength, even if this was a mission of peace. 

While those behind her were dressed in scrubbed leathers, various blades and weapons strapped to their bodies, Morrigan was every bit the emissary of the Night Court. The skirts of her purple dressed swept over the floor, loose around her legs and hips, coming to hug over her breasts and tie in a knot at her neck. Detail was embroidered on in golden thread, and the entirety of her back was exposed. The golden curls had been swept into a delicate up-do, highlighting the points of her ears and a heavy moonstone seemed to glow on a chain at her neck. The only piece of home she carried with her.

On six separate thrones, sat the Mortal Queens. Varying ages, different in appearance, yet all of them looked to her with scrutiny in their eyes. The way she was, carrying herself in front of a miniature army, dressed in fashion that was vulgar by their standards, and above all else, a Fae, Mor had to focus on not squirming. She would not show weakness. 

“My ladies,” Mor swept into a low curtsy, her soft chiffon skirts elegantly shifting around her. “Thank you, for inviting into your home, and considering the alliance we have offered you,” As she spoke, she straightened, lifting her gaze and meeting the eyes of each of them, one after the other. 

“The Morrigan,” The one in the middle spoke; the eldest, she presumed. “We too appreciate your swift arrival, and the gesture offered by your court. We look forward to discussing terms of this Treaty with you and ending this war.”

It sounded like the script of a play, written down and rehearsed, and maybe it was the tight tone in the middle Queens voice, but Mor had trouble believe she was pleased to have them here. Desperate times, desperate measures. 

“Tomorrow,” It wasn't the middle queen that spoke this time, but one of the Queens on the end. She looked smaller somehow. Younger. The Queen to her left shot her a look that read of her displeasure at the woman speaking out. Mor's gaze lingered on her. A mane of golden hair framed her dark face, where amber eyes were framed by thick lashes. The panes of her face were fresh with youth, and peppered with freckles. A lion in a kitten's clothing. That was the thought that went through her mind. There was something about her. The way those amber eyes lingered on her. Unfaltering. Daring. It made Mor pause.

“Yes, tomorrow,” It was the middle Queen again. “For now, let your people eat and rest. They have quarters prepared in the barracks. You yourself have a room within the North Tower.”

“You have my gratitude,” Two sentries would remain with her, on guard outside her door at all times. Not that Morrigan needed it, but it would be at insistence of her soldiers. And Rhysand if he found out that she refused a standing guard. 

“We would appreciate if you join us for the evening meal,” Again, that amber eyed Queen spoke, and Mor once again was struck by the notion that the invitation wasn't pre-planned. 

“Thank you. I will, of course,” Mor gave a respectful bow of her head, offering a smile to the Queens, and when her eyes met those of the golden Queen, she found a grin shown in return. One which made her skin heat slightly before she quickly remembered herself, turning and sweeping out of the hall without another look, her people following after her. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Morrigan did indeed share supper that night with the Queens. Conversation was tense, and dry, except for with the young Queen whose name she learned was Andromache. The woman was curious, and still seemed entirely comfortable, regardless of the presence of the Fae. 

The food was bland and the wine dull. She forgot how boring mortal cuisine was. Yet she kept that disguised with a polite smile. Hungry enough that she would eat anything on her plate. The rest of the Night Court members were eating in the barracks, which were equipped to hold the numbers.

It was strange. Being on a diplomatic trip without one other member of the Inner Circle. No Rhys, no Cassian. No Azriel. It was a little unnerving. Knowing everything rested on her shoulders when it came to these Queens and the Treaty they needed to try and forge. 

So she kept her head up, a polite smile on her lips. Mor eat every crumb, drank every drop of wine that was placed in her cup, and when the night came to a close, she politely thanked the Queens before leaving, finding the burning amber eyes of the golden Queen followed her from the room.

Tonight had been a test. 

A silent question from both parties if there could be a common ground. If a Fae could be trusted in the Mortal lands. 

Tomorrow, the real work began. The terms of the alliance would be drawn up. The outline of a Treaty worked and the human army would be briefed by both her and and her soldiers. The Fae would come, with Hybern on their heels, there was no question, and they had a lot to do before this war was over. Before peace found both their lands. 

Mor would work for it. Do whatever she could to save these humans.

She could only hope the Mortal Queens would do the same. 

\---------------------------------------------------

If the Queens had been scandalised by her dress the day before, they were on the verge of dying from shock when Morrigan arrived to the map room that morning in Illyrian fighting leathers. 

That morning, she'd eaten breakfast with those in the barracks, briefing her men who were to train until she returned following her first official meeting with the Queens. The humans were trained yes, but Mor was to offer her soldiers skills and further heighten those of the Mortals.

“What are you wearing?” It was Celeste that spoke, a tone of horror in her voice. She was the third eldest queen. Her hair fell in brown waves that cascaded down her back, smart blue eyes looked her up and down, reminding Mor briefly of the oceans in Adriata. When this was done and this war was won, maybe she would visit the Summer Court again.

“They're fighting leathers. I intend to train this afternoon,” Mor merely shrugged, taking a seat at the round table, casting a glance to the marked maps laid out in front of them.

“With the men?” Celeste again croaked, looking even more horrified.

“Well, there are woman too,” Fewer, but the Night Court had taken anyone with the skill to wield a blade. If only they refused to clip the wings of their women, then they'd have aerial females too.

One battle at a time.

Amber eyes were on her again, lacking the same disgust and horror of the others. Instead there was fascination. The lion Queen seemed intrigued by the sculpted armour, the pants, the tight braid Mor had woven her hair into and the weapons at her belt. Of course they wouldn't be used to seeing a woman like this. The humans had refused to let woman into their armies. It was ridiculous, but she dared not push the Mortals.

Andromache looked like she had a thousand things she wanted to say, but a look from that eldest Queen and she ducked her head.

Perhaps a warning had been issued after yesterday. 

Mor found a smile teasing her lips, before she pulled papers and maps of her own from the stack within the pack she'd brought. They had much to discuss.

They talked, debated, discussed and planned until early afternoon, breaking for lunch and once fed, Morrigan returned to her men, who had settled into training again after their own pause for food and water.

And as she threw herself into training, a sword in her hand, the Fae lady could have sworn she caught a glimmer of a golden Queen from a high up balcony, watching as Mor held her own against the men who circled. A soldier herself as much as an emissary. 

A protector if these meetings went well.

A deadly enemy if they did not.


	2. Of Flowers and Stolen Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what if I like your protection?”
> 
> The Queen took another step and she was close, close enough that Morrigan could see the freckles which sprinkled her dark shoulders and down over her chest, the way the stars coated the night sky. It made her think of home. And feeling something in the pit of her stomach that she had ignored for so long, that made her want to turn on heel and run. Run from the palace all the way back to Velaris. Even if she had been thinking about it for some time now. Thinking about taking a female lover after seeing what Nephelle had with her mate. After wanting so deeply in the pits of her heart. It still scared her beyond all words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I have to be honest I have no written a multi-chapter fic in many years and I just have so much inspiration for this. I think I'm quickly falling for this ship big style. I hope you enjoy!

Those initial weeks passed quickly and soon, Mor found herself in the palace for a whole month, and it didn’t look like she’d be leaving any time.

The woman had understood from the beginning that this wouldn’t be a straight forward negotiation, but she hadn’t quite anticipated it would be so difficult either.

Getting all six of the Mortal Queens to agree on something was a task to say the least, and when they did mutually push for a term, it tended to be a point Mor knew would not be accepted by the High Lords of the Prythian Courts.

There was a lot of lively debate to say the least.

Most days were spent with those Mortal Queens within the stuffy map room. Sometimes it was all six, other days there were three. They had other duties, responsibilities, which Morrigan understood but not appreciate for making her life even more difficult. Yet no matter the day or the time, the golden Queen, Andromache, was always there. And Mor had decided she liked her best.

The woman, who was in fact the youngest of the six was kind, intelligent, yet her heart burned with a wildness that set her amber eyes on fire. It was evident, in the way she often spoke her mind without hesitation, asking questions the others didn’t dare voice and even seeming to admire Mor and the Fae for what they were. Morrigan hadn’t involved herself with humans, had never spent as much time with Mortals as she did with the Queens, but Andromache was different from the assumptions she’d made. Different from her fellow royals.

Over the weeks of being in the mortal lands, she'd decided that Andromache reminded her of the sunrise after Starfall. Beautiful. Blindly so.

It had been a particularly gruelling morning. The midday heat was seeping into Mor's bones, making her skin clammy despite the two piece Night Court attire, the chiffon loose around her figure and the expanse of her midriff exposed. Another outfit which had caused a stir among the Queens. Her soft slippers padded quietly against the stone floor of the hallway, stacks of papers in her arms. She had several letters she needed to write and dispatch and review what they'd discussed in the meeting. 

“Morrigan!”

The soft chime of a the voice had her hesitating, looking over her shoulder to find Andromache hurrying towards her, skirts gathered as she made her way down the hall. In spite of herself, Mor found she was smiling as she gave a small bow of her head. “Your majesty,” She greeted, slowing until the woman fell into step beside her. “But please, call me Mor.”

“Only if you call me Andromache,” There was a smile there, a calm familiarity that none of the other Queens offered her. They were polite. Courteous. But this one was friendly.

“Andromache. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was wondering if you'd like to join me on a walk. I realise you've not seen much of the palace, never mind the gardens. They're beautiful.”

“I really should...I've work to do. Letters to send,” Mor cast a glance to the papers in her arms, trying to cast her gaze away from the young woman who stared at her with those smouldering amber eyes. Were she a Fae, Mor could imagine the fire that would burn in her veins.

Wildfire. 

“Please? I'd appreciate the company.”

A pause. 

“I suppose it would be rude of me to refuse. And It is very warm.”

Andromache's answering smile was worth it. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

As promised, the gardens were exquisite. They paused by Mor's chambers so she could leave her reports and pick up her weapons. A sword for her waist and a dagger for her leg. As much as she trusted the Queen, and even though the guard would be with them, instinct had been bred into her to carry a weapon if the situation was unknown. And while a walk in the gardens was hardly a battlefield, it was best to be prepared. 

There was cooling breeze that washed over her, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers from the hundreds of beds planted throughout the vast ground.

Four soldiers followed them. Two Fae, two mortals. Yet they remained a respectful distance behind. 

The sun was shining as they passed by a still pond, teaming with water lilies and small frogs which hopped out of their way as they swept past. Fish darted through the still waters and the land was so peaceful given a war was raging beyond the walls. 

“This garden was started by our ancestors years ago. There are flowers from all over the Continent. Even a few from the Courts above, if rumours are to be believed.” Andromache spoke, gazing down at a crop of bright purple and pink flowers, their scent carried, sweet and light. “It's one of my favourite places in the whole of the palace.”

“I can see why. I forget how beautiful the mortal world can be.”

“Of course. Us humans are just dull beasts in comparison to the glory of the Fae.”

“I...I didn't...That came out wrong, what I meant is-”

Andromache's musical laughter chimed, her mane of golden hair tumbling into the dark features of her face as she gave her head a small shake. “It's okay. I know what you meant. I'm sure these lands are nothing in comparison to the Court you hail from.”

Mor felt a small pang of sadness, thinking of the Night Court, Velaris, her friends. They would win this war, or so she hoped, and she would see that city again. Drink with her friends once more. “This place is truly beautiful. My home is...different.”

“What's it like?”

A hesitation. Velaris was a secret and there was only so much that Mor could reveal, but Andromache was easy to talk to. Maybe she was a magic charmer after all. “By day it's an artist's picture, but at night...it's indescribable. There's nowhere like it.” The mortal queen was looking at her, hanging on her every word. 

“I should like to see it someday.”

The confidence in the young woman's words brought a laugh from Mor's lips. Somehow she didn't think humans would be welcomed into any of the courts after this war. “Few people wish to see the Night Court,” The reputation of her court varied from land to land, but few knew of the unfathomable beauty of their land at the most northern boarder of Prythian. 

“Maybe I'm just more daring than anyone you've met.”

“Oh yes, the bravery of youth.”

“I'm hardy a child.”

“Aren't you?”

“I've just turned twenty.”

“Well, you're a child by Fae standards,” Not that Mor could speak, she was too. Not even into her first century of life, or anywhere near it, she was practically a rebellious teen in the eyes of the Court. A teen fighting wars and forging treaties. Far from the seventeen year old that had been left bleeding on the boarder of the Autumn court so long ago.

They stopped by a bench that had been carved from stone and seated themselves, their guards pausing nearby. Andromache leaned down, sliding her shoes off, letting her feet press into the grass a sigh escaping her lips as the woman tilted her head back, towards the sun. It highlighted the freckles on her dark cheeks, the sweep of her lashes as her eyes fluttered shut, golden tresses shimmering in the light. 

Mor didn't even realise that she was staring until amber eyes met her own and she turned away, her cheeks heating slightly. This was ridiculous. She was a emissary. Here to bring peace, not forge attachments to anyone or anything in this place.

“What?” Andromache tilted her head to the side, lips curling into a gentle smile.

“Nothing, I-”

“My lady,” It was one of the human guards who interrupted, bowing his head in apology. Yet before he could speak, his words died on his tongue, as an arrow went through his eye and with a horrific slump, his body collapsed to the ground.

Andromache's horrified scream broke Mor from her trance on the male's body, just as more arrows began to drop from the sky. Her Fae guards threw themselves in front of her, throwing up shields which the arrows bounced off of. The remaining mortal guard hurried forward to his Queen who was frozen in place, mouth agape, staring at the body fallen in the pool of blood.

“Run!” Morrigan grabbed the other woman's hand, bolting past the mortal guard. Despite stumbling on the skirts of her dress and lacking any shoes on the hard gravel paths once they hit them, Andromache ran, clutching Mor's hand as they hurried back towards the castle. Beyond she could here shouts of alarm, clashing of swords, calls of panic. They'd been ambushed. No doubt they knew of the Treaty and she'd known they'd come but this soon? “Hurry!” They needed to get inside, needed to protect the Queens. 

Yet as they rounded the corner to approach the door they'd left through, it became apparent it wasn't that simple, as three looming figures blocked their path. Hybern soldiers, she recognised instantly. Scouts. Fae. And armed to the teeth. Mor snatched her dagger from her boot and pressed it into Andromache's hand. “If any of them come near you, start swinging this, aim for wherever you can reach,” As she instructed, she pulled the Illyrian blade from the sheath at her hip, turning to face the soldiers whose attention were now on them.

“Stay behind me.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

The fight wasn't the easiest, even if it was only three scouts. Morrigan was well enough trained, but trying to keep an eye on all three soldiers and Andromache was difficult. Distracting. She made stupid mistakes. Paid for them with a series of cuts and slashes that she was lucky weren't more damaging. The first man went down with a heavy thud, though she hadn't had time to think before the other two were on her and maybe they would have over powered her had Andromache not taking the opportunity to lodge the dagger squarely into the thigh of one of the men. He screams of agony were silenced when Mor slit hit throat. Swiftly followed by his friend.

It transpired that the Fae hadn't sent vast numbers, merely enough to source out the Mortal Queens and their defences. The causalities had been few, and none had gotten close to the Queens before they'd been cut down by the Night Court and Mortal Soldiers.

It hadn't taken much to get Mor patched up. She'd taken a bath, washing the cuts and blood from her body, not all of which was her own. The deeper cuts on her arm and leg had been coated with salve and bandage. It could have been worse. She was fine. Andromache was unharmed, if not a bit shaken when the Queen had been pulled safely into the castle, still clutching Mor's hand. Even if she hadn't killed a man, she'd helped, and she could understand doing that, seeing what she had, was shocking. Even Mor had had a tremble to her hands before she'd downed a cup of sweet tea.

Clad in a pair of clean pants and a tunic, Morrigan's slippered feet were quiet on the stone floor as she made her way to the private chambers of the golden Queen. The guards posted outside straightened at her approach and she smiled reassuringly, even as they raked a concerned look over her, from her pointed ears to her exposed middle. “I wanted to speak to the Queen.”

“She's not requested any guests.”

“I'm sure she'll consider it. Just let her know I'm here.”

An exchanged look. One of the guards knocked and ducked just inside the slightly opened door. A moment later, the guard returned, this time holding the door open and giving a nod for Mor to enter.

Andromache was perched at her dressing table, dragging a brush through her thick main of hair. Small straps sat at her shoulders, flowing down into her light, white nightgown which seemed to fall to her ankles. Modest, yet cool for the muggy night. As Mor stepped further inside, the Queen swept to the side to meet her gaze and Mor curtsied. “Your highness. I wanted to see how you were.”

“Andromache,” The Queen politely corrected her, smiling faintly as she got to her feet, looking to the other woman. “And I'm okay. You?” Her amber eyes lingered on the binding at the top of Mor's arm, brief concern etching her features.

“Just a few scratches. They'll be healed by morning.”

“Good. I'm glad,” Taking a few steps forward, the Queen brushed her hand through the strands of her golden hair. “And I'm glad you're here. I wanted to thank you. For saving my life.”

“It's nothing. No need to thank me,” The other Queens had already thanked her, even though her men had done more than she had to protect the palace.

“But there is. Without your men here, I'm not sure we would have faired as well with so few deaths,” Each step had brought Andromache closer to her, and only when the woman reached out to take her hand, holding it between both of her own did she realise how close the Queen was. “And without you, had I been in those gardens alone...I don't think I would be standing here. So thank you.”

“Well, you did help by shoving that dagger into that Fae's leg.”

A flutter of laughter, even if there was a slightly nervous edge to it. “I couldn't let you have all the glory,” Andromache kept a hold of her hand, clasped between those warm, soft fingers. Mor tried to ignore the spark that ran through her arm or the heat which crept along her neck, threatening to spread. 

“Maybe I should teach you how to properly swing a sword. Then you won't need me to protect you.”

“And what if I like your protection?”

The Queen took another step and she was close, close enough that Morrigan could see the freckles which sprinkled her dark shoulders and down over her chest, the way the stars coated the night sky. It made her think of home. And feeling something in the pit of her stomach that she had ignored for so long, that made her want to turn on heel and run. Run from the palace all the way back to Velaris. Even if she had been thinking about it for some time now. Thinking about taking a female lover after seeing what Nephelle had with her mate. After wanting so deeply in the pits of her heart. It still scared her beyond all words.

Yet her feet felt like they were glued to the spot. Like the hand clasped between Andromache's kept her anchored there. Unable to move. “Do you?”

“I do. And your company. Very much.”

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, stuck in her throat at the closeness of the woman. The lilac scent of her which flooded her senses. But words were not needed, as lips were pressed to her own. Soft, warm lips, in a tender kiss. Mor's eyes widened, the breath catching in her chest. She couldn't think, couldn't remember how to do anything as that searing kiss burned through her. 

And for a moment, Morrigan gave in. Eyes fluttered closed. Her free hand drifted to Andromache's waist, against the soft fabric of her nightgown, kissing her in return, slow yet firm. A breathy little moan catching in Andromache's throat, so quiet that a human wouldn't have heard it. But her Fae ears did. And it was enough to bring Mor crashing back to reality.

This was a Queen. A Mortal Queen. A woman. 

Nausea wrenched in her gut as she pulled back. “I...I'm sorry,” Mor wrenched her hand from Andromache's, the Mortal Queen looking surprised and concerned, those amber eyes burning as they followed the Fae. Mor staggered back, catching her breath like it had been stolen by a curse. Maybe this woman was a witch. Enticing her in ways that were inhuman. It felt like it. “I have to go,” And without pause, she turned on heel, and fled. Fled like a coward. She paid no attention to Andromache's call of her name as she bolted through the door. Didn't look at the guards who watched after her with uncertain confusion. 

She just ran, and ran.

Until she was locked away in the safety of her room.

Then the tears came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins Mor's gay panic. More to come. Leave a comment, a kudos or whatever you like but thank you for reading! I do have a habit or writing a lot.


	3. Come Back to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss had haunted her, chasing her every fleeting thought or deepest dream. And every time she looked at the young Queen all she could think about was the feel of her lips, the scent of lilac on her skin and wanting more. More than she should ever want. 
> 
> Most of her meals, Mor took in her room or with her men in the barracks. Putting a distance between herself and Andromache. Sooner rather than later, the Treaty would be done, or so she hoped. 
> 
> It was three weeks later when the letter arrived from Cassian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some smut in this chapter! I have still serious inspiration for this fic, so there will probably be another 2 to 3 chapters coming up this week.

It wasn't easy avoiding someone when you were a guest in their home, even if that home was a massive palace. Morrigan couldn't escape the time spent with the Queens mapping out the new terms of the Treaty, relaying the information sent to her by her cousin and uncle. She didn't speak to Andromache, didn't look at her. 

The kiss had haunted her, chasing her every fleeting thought or deepest dream. And every time she looked at the young Queen all she could think about was the feel of her lips, the scent of lilac on her skin and wanting more. More than she should ever want. 

Most of her meals, Mor took in her room or with her men in the barracks. Putting a distance between herself and Andromache. Sooner rather than later, the Treaty would be done, or so she hoped. 

It was three weeks later when the letter arrived from Cassian.

An Illyrian scouting division had located a small battalion of Fae foot soldiers just beyond the Spring Court boarder a week earlier, and sources had confirmed they were marching for the palace. 

Mor had jumped into action as her friend had requested. A day and a half's trek north would lead them into the path of the battalion, where Cassian would be leading a group of Illyrians down to meet them, trapping the Fae soldiers between them. If all went to plan, it would be a quick battle.

The woman had sent out word to the Queens to keep them informed, and to her own soldiers, to ready themselves. No other forces could be spared. They would leave at sunrise and return when the battle was done providing everything went according to plan.

And she didn't die.

It had barely been half an hour since she'd sent word to the Queens when the knock sounded at her door. Mor was throwing together a pack, her armour shining and waiting on a dummy in the corner of the room, her weapons were laid out on the bed. Cassian had made the suggestion that she stay with the Queens, but that wasn't an option. There would be a lot more bloodshed before this war came to an end.

“Come in,” Mor called, almost certain about who it was, and as Andromache swept into the room, her suspicions were confirmed. The golden Queen stopped in her tracks, spotting the weapons, the armour. 

“You're leaving?”

“Temporarily. Duty calls me elsewhere.”

“You're going to fight.”

“Yes. We need to cut off the Fae before they get here.”

“Then send your soldiers and stay here.”

“I won't send my people to die.”

“Morrigan, if this is about what happened-”

“It isn't about that,” Mor snapped, finally stopping as she turned to face the woman who had an expression of fear and worry on her beautiful features, those amber eyes settling on her. “These men and woman swear their lives to this fight, the least I can do for them is the same.”

“You could get hurt.”

“That's a risk I have to take. Now if that's everything, I have a lot to do before sunrise,” The tone was dismissive as Mor moved to the door, pulling it open and giving a motion for the Queen to leave. Andromache hesitated, something pleading in her eyes as she remained staring. Finally she gave a small nod, footsteps quiet as she made for the door.

“Stay safe. Please come back.”

The words were so quiet, Mor almost didn't hear them, waiting until the woman was through the door before snapping it shut. She didn't let the unsettled feeling take over as she resumed packing.

\------------------------------------------

The battle went as planned, though it lasted longer than anticipated.

The losses were few, and Cassian and the Illyrians were able to capture some prisoners for information purposes. And a week later, Morrigan had returned to the palace with her soldier. They were exhausted and filthy, but alive, and that's what mattered. Any front of victory in this war for the humans counted, even if it was at the hands of their Fae allies. 

Mor had sent one of her Commanders to the Queens, to inform them of the details of their victory while she had retired to her quarters. 

Her normally shining armour was dull with blood and mud, her skin felt caked with sweat and filth and her hair had lost any shine from days without being washed.

The servants had prepared the bathing chamber down the hall from her room and steam was rising from the bath when Mor stepped into the room, the scent of the oils in the water filling her nose. Her muscles ached and her head throbbed as she slid into the water, letting it lap over her pale skin.

The water was starting to go cold when she finally felt clean enough to leave. 

Morrigan's bare feet padded on the stone, the silk folds of her robe grazing her ankles and wet hair tumbling across her shoulders and down her back. It was bliss, to feel clean again, away from a camp site and the smell of blood and death.

Her room wasn't empty.

There was a streak of golden hair and then arms were around her. The scent of lilac, a face pressed against her neck. “You're okay,” Andromache breathed against her skin, her embrace almost crushingly tight.

Completely caught off guard, Mor's hands hung limp at her sides trying to ignore the slight flutter in her chest. “Of course I am, don't sound so surprised,” It was a flat attempt at humour which faltered entirely when the Queen pulled back. Those striking eyes were filled with so many emotions; fear, worry, relief. 

“I was worried,” The golden Queen didn't make to move, keeping her arms around the Fae. “I thought-”

Whatever words the Mortal woman were going to speak were lost as lips were pressed against her own. That golden mane of hair was soft as Morrigan's fingers slid into it, baiting a soft moan from Andromache. Mor kissed her until the breath was stolen from her lungs and she had to pull away.

The fear was there. A beast growling in the back of her mind, whispering words in her ear, telling her to run. To remember the Hewn City, her family, everything that had stopped her from ever seeking this out. From acting on her desires.

Then she remembered Nephelle and her wife. The happiness that radiated from the two women. Everything they had that Mor wished she had. And when she pulled back to witness the smile on Andromache's full lips, the snarling beast was silenced, pushed down further and further, replaced by the smile, by the kindness this Queen had shown her and concern she hadn't witnessed beyond her Inner Circle.

There was no hesitation this time as Mor kissed her again. 

With gentle coaxing, the Fae inched Andromache back to the bed until the woman sunk back onto the down stuffed mattress, body covered with her own. A hand slid under her silk robe, soft fingers graze against her bare breast, baiting a moan from Mor. Desire sparked through her like lightening, alive and electric in her blood. 

Fingers traced over the firm bodice of Andromache's dress as Mor kissed down along her neck, her collar bone, searching for skin as her hand drifted down to tug at skirt, and layer after layer, before finally a laugh bubbled from the Fae woman. “How many dresses do you have on?” 

A bright smile lit up the panes of the Queen's face, shoving Mor's shoulder, pushing her back. “Us mere mortals don't have the luxury of your Fae fashion,” Andromache laughed, rising to her feet as she pulled her mane of gold hair over her shoulder. “So don't just lay there. Help.”

And she did. Happily. Untying the ribbons of her corset, stripping away the lengths of fabric, the petticoat and slip, until she was bare in front of her. Every inch of her dark skin was perfect, peppered with freckles, soft and beautiful. 

“There. Much better,” Mor murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as Andromache turned to face her, biting her bottom lip shyly as she reached out, undoing the tie holding her robe clothes, pushing the silk fabric from her shoulders.

“You're beautiful,” The Queen seemed completely entranced, her fingers reaching out, tracing over Mor's skin, from her collar bone, down between her breasts, along her abdomen lingering at the scar just below her bellybutton. There was a question there, but Mor stole a kiss before it could be voiced.

This time when they collapsed onto the bed, there was no struggle with layers of clothes, but the woman was instead free to touch and memorise whatever inch of Andromache she could reach. The length of her spine, the curves of her hips, along the inside of her thighs, and every moan or gasp the woman made, Mor drank it in. 

Frankly, she was glad her sentries were sworn to her, and that they wouldn't spread gossip if they heard anything, because the Queen had come into her room and had not left, and Morrigan had no interest in encouraging her to be quiet.

The Queen was eager under her touch, arching into her mouth as Mor's took a hard nipple into her mouth, her hand kneading and massaging her other breast. This was what it was, to feel such intense desire she felt she might burn then and there.

Her mouth trailed a path along dark skin, until she was contently settled between the woman's legs, finding her wet and when she tasted her for that first time, Mor didn't try to quiet the groan that rattled deep in her throat. Andromache was hot against her tongue, and tasted sweet, wildfire as fingers knotted within her hair, driving her on.

When the woman climaxed, Mor swore she would remember the sound of her name as it tumbled from the golden Queen's lips for the rest of her immortal life. And she wanted to hear it again and again, wanted to be the reason for that pleasure.

She would have been happy in that moment, to savour the lingering taste of the human on her lips, to curl up beside her and admire the gleam of sweat on her skin, the rise and fall of her chest. Yet Morrigan didn't complain when Andromache ushered her to lay back onto the bed, sliding her hand between her legs. She didn't realise how persistent that ache was until those nimble fingers slid against her, coaxing her legs apart, offering herself up to the mortal.

It was different than it had been with Cassian, or with the few men she had taken to bed since she'd fucked her friend and almost been killed because of it. There had been pleasure yes, but it was also about control, about reclaiming something for herself. And hiding. Tugging a veil down over herself and hiding the truth from everyone.

This was desire, lust. All consuming want. 

The Fae was doing this because it was what her body, her heart demanded.

Two fingers slid inside her, deep and crooked and Mor was certain she would lose it then and there, with those amber eyes watching her, soaking in the Fae woman spread out for her, offered up to whatever she would give her. 

All it took was the golden Queen lowering her head to kiss over Mor's breasts, her thumb stroking over the bundle of nerves as she thrust her fingers into her over and over, for the woman to lose herself, crying out as she came, hair splayed across the pillow as she rode out her climax, letting it wash over her entirely. She was still trying to drag air back into her lungs when Andromache nestled in against her side, tangling their legs together as she pulled her in for a lazy kiss, unable to find the words, letting her mouth say it all.

\------------------------------------------

“I have to go.”

Sunrise was a few hours off, and despite the exhaustion which clawed at every inch of Morrigan, she was still very much awake. She and Andromache had spent the night together, the human displaying enough stamina to keep up with the Fae as they kissed and fucked and held one another for hours. Yet it had finally gotten late enough for the Queen to need to take her leave, lest her servants find an empty chamber when they came to wake her in the morning and panic ensued. 

“Just a little longer,” Mor mumbled, naked and uncaring as she pressed a kiss to the shell of Andromache's ear, distracting the woman who was sliding back into the complicated folds of her dress.

“I'll come back tonight,” Andromache turned catching Mor's lips with her own in a brief kiss before she rose to her feet, barely bothering to tie the ribbon of her dress, just enough to be decent until she got back to her room. 

“You better,” The Fae woman practically growled, dragging her back down for one last kiss, nipping on the swollen bottom lip of the human, earning the softest little whimper.

“I will. Now get some sleep,” The golden Queen was radiant, beaming as staggered towards the door in the dull light of the chamber, a single candle providing the only illumination.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Andromache agreed with a small nod, granting her one last smile, one last appreciative glance, before slipping from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Mor released a breath, sinking back against the mattress, finding the smile impossible to tear from her lips, and despite her exhaustion, sleep was the last thing on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic, hopefully you're all still enjoying it. Kudos and comments are so very appreciated. Thanks for all your support so far <3


	4. Unwelcome Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a little over six months since Mor had arrived in the human realm, four since she and Andromache had started...whatever it was they had together. They hadn't put a name on it, hadn't explored too deep into their feelings, but it hadn't stopped them from sharing a bed most nights, and whatever stolen moments they could.
> 
> As crazy as it was, Mor felt happy. Even with a war breathing down their neck along with death and fear, she was happy, living for the time she got with the Mortal Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took longer to get done than anticipated! I had a very busy and tiring week, so even though I was writing here and there, it wasn't coming together as quickly. However, it is longer, so I hope that makes up for the pause between chapters. Some Morrigan/Azriel interaction included in this chapter, because even if their ship is done, I love them just as friends if nothing else. Enjoy!

“My High Lord has requested your permission to visit the palace. He wishes to be updated on the Treaty in person. The battles are intensifying in the North and he is...concerned about how things are moving.”

As Morrigan stood at the bottom of the steps before the six thrones of the Mortal Queens, she was relaying her High Lord's letter in much more pleasant terms. Orion had not asked permission, but rather had simply told her that she could expect his presence within the week. The war was becoming more violent and he wanted to discuss the terms of the preliminary Treaty that she had sent him a week previous.

It had been a little over six months since Mor had arrived in the human realm, four since she and Andromache had started...whatever it was they had together. They hadn't put a name on it, hadn't explored too deep into their feelings, but it hadn't stopped them from sharing a bed most nights, and whatever stolen moments they could.

As crazy as it was, Mor felt happy. Even with a war breathing down their neck along with death and fear, she was happy, living for the time she got with the Mortal Queen. 

Even as she stood, stone faced with the dread of her Court looming over her, Mor had to steel herself from reacting when she met those amber eyes for just a moment before quickly looking away, heating licking along the back of her neck as she recalled waking up to meet those same eyes gazing up at her from between her legs.

“And can we expect a large party to visit with your High Lord?” It was a layered questioned, carefully asked by the Queen who was second in line, Briala. 

“It will be a fleeting visit. The High Lord will probably be accompanied by a handful of sentries and perhaps an emissary from our Court,” And the sick feeling in Mor's stomach already gave her an indication of who that emissary would most likely be. 

And she was right.

Three days later, the High Lord of the Night Court, with several Illyrian sentries, his Shadowsinger and her father, the emissary from the Hewn City.

Keir had brought two of his darkbringer guards, one Mor recognised as Gregor, a particularly horrid creature and a favourite of her father's.

Whatever brief happiness she had felt upon seeing Azriel, had disappeared the moment her father's presence had entered the room. The man didn't even look at her with the exception of a disgusted glance her general direction. Gregor however, barely took his eyes off of her, a wild grin on his features.

Andromache hadn't pried when Morrigan had asked to borrow a dress, one of Mortal design. It was an act of defiance, not towards her Lord or her Court, but towards her father, who would see the attire as one more mark against his disowned daughter. Keir hated the humans. In fact, her father had refused to offer aid during this war, and she had no doubt that he wasn't going to change his mind. He was here to satisfy his curiosity and make her feel uncomfortable while he did so.

Mor's dress while beautiful was more modest than her normal gowns, the layers, bustled skirts licked the marble floor, the corseted middle pulled her waist in and while her cleavage and collar bone were accented by the sweeping neckline, it was done so in a lady like manner as sleeves fell to her forearms and her hair was swept into a delicate knot Andromache had fixed for her. She was as beautiful as ever, but dressed in mortal wears with only her Fae ears reminding those of what she was.

Standing at the foot of the stairs before the Mortal Queens throne, Morrigan had curtsied before her High Lord and Uncle who had greeted her with a small nod, and her gaze had flickered momentarily to Azriel whose shadows had shrunk back, allowing her to see that handsome face and while he didn't smile, she saw the familiar warmth in his eyes.

Mor introduced each party of the Court; her High Lord, Azriel, sweeping over the Illyrian guard and stumbling when it came to her father. Silently she cursed herself, before in turn, announcing each of the Queens. Andromache was watching her, curious, contemplating, her beautiful face furrowed in a frown as she looked to the new arrivals and back to Mor. 

Orion, her High Lord, took it from there, and respectfully, she stepped back, allowing him to speak. Azriel arched his eyebrow as he looked to her, his eyes flickering over the skirts of her dress and she offered a half smile, shrugging her shoulders slightly. She wanted to see him in private. She'd missed him but at the same time Azriel being here made things complicated.

Their relationship had always been that way, ever since they'd met, more so since he'd rescued her from certain death at the Autumn Court. And Azriel looked at her in the way she was certain she looked at Andromache.

Yet where Azriel was one issue, her father was something else entirely.

Keir still didn't look at her and while Mor held firm, there was still something tight and sickly in her chest. It made her want to run. Yet she would not be afraid. Would not cower from him.

“We've arranged a small celebration to welcome you to our home for this evening. We will hold a formal meeting tomorrow to discuss the Treaty. Until then, our servants will show you to your quarters.”

Mor didn't miss the sneer on her father's face. Nothing in the Queen's palace would be good enough for him. Maybe not for her Uncle either, but he had the ability to feign gratitude as he swept into a slight bow, if it could be classified as that, before the newly arrived members of the Night Court were led from the throne room.

\-------------------------------------------

The small celebration was bigger than expected and held in one of the finest dining halls of the palace. Lords and ladies from the nobility of the nearby lands had been invited, though many had refused when it had been stated a Fae High Lord would be present. Others were no doubt curious enough to be led here. 

Generals and commanders from both her forces and the human men had been invited, and casks of ale and plates of food had been sent down to the barracks for those not in attendance. 

Mor had spent an hour after Orion's arrival with her High Lord, quickly updating him, answering questions, not just on what she'd been doing but about the Queen's, the palace, the lands. On the attacks and battles and everything she had involved herself in since arriving. He reacted to little of it, dismissing her once he'd fed his curiosity.

The woman had changed for the dinner, clad in a sea-green gown that swept in long waves of skirts and clung to her breasts, the back of it was open and a split along the leg allowed her more movement.

Tonight, she wasn't to sit with the Queens. Her seat had been taken by her father, and the High Lord sat at the head of the table, the guest of honour. Mor however, sat at the table next to it, Azriel at her side, three of her best commanders across from her and Gregor next to them. She wanted to talk to her friend. To find out what he knew of the war, of the Courts and more importantly, of Rhysand and Cassian. Yet with her father's general smirking at her, she didn't feel like talking. Wasn't sure she could.

It wasn't until the dinner ended that Morrigan was able to relax.

The tables were pulled to the sides of the room and music began playing. Servants milled around with jugs of expensive sparkling wine, nobility mingled and gossiped, all the while shooting glances at the visiting Fae.

One thing she would never get used to was this normality at times of war. The whole world as they knew it could be about to change yet they were throwing a party. Or at least it seemed like a party. What it really was, was a display. A show that even mortals had luxuries, wealth, culture, beauty. Things worth saving, preserving, even if it couldn't match whatever the Fae had, it was still here.

And the wine was good.

“Seems like you're settling into the human lands, Mor,” Azriel's cool voice was like a whisper on a night breeze. As usual, she hadn't heard him approach, as swift as the shadows, even as they shrunk back from her. Siphons glowed in several spots across Azriel's body and she basked in the familiarity of them, of him, suddenly home sick. She missed Velaris. 

Leaning against a wall, Mor cradled a cup of sparkling wine to her chest, offering him a little smile. “Oh don't worry, Az. I've not traded loyalties. I know you'd all miss me too much at home,” There was a slight quirk of his lips which for Azriel was practically a grin. “But I haven't hated my time here,” As she spoke, her gaze settled on Andromache and she hoped her friend didn't catch the gesture.

Tonight, the golden Queen was clad in a gown that matched her name. Layers of white, embroidered generously with gold thread which shimmered when it caught the light. Her dark skin was deeper, her figure hugged to her waist where the voluminous skirts bellowed out and her hair was pinned in an elegant up-do that was accentuated by expensive combs.

Breathtaking. 

Mor let her gaze linger for a moment longer, on the woman who mingled easily with those around her. Who brought a smile to the lips of the nobles and even an Illyrian warrior as she nodded gracefully at him, before she looked away, glancing back towards Azriel who seemed not to have noticed her lingering stare.

“Have you heard from them? Rhys or Cass?” The question was reluctant, almost fearful of what news he might or might not have because if anyone knew anything, it would be the Shadowsinger.

“Rhys sent a report last week. He’s in the thick of the fighting and Cassian, it’s been even longer. Last I heard was the general was leading them towards the coast of the Night Court but I’ve heard nothing since,” Though Azriel was not one to let his emotions ever get to him, there was a waver in his voice, a quiet note that only someone like Mor would notice. He was worried.

“They’ll be okay,” They had to be. The idea of not seeing them again hurt her heart in more ways than she cared to dwell on. Azriel’s silence was answer enough. It wasn’t guaranteed. Nothing was. 

For the longest time, they stood together without a word, Mor simply grateful for the familiar presence of her friend and the shadows which gently brushed against her skin. When a young, brave human man marked with a noble house crest approached her for a dance, she didn’t refuse. There too much she wanted to say to Azriel, and too many people watching and listening to do so.

So instead, she danced. She drank sparkling wine and let herself be passed from man to man, human and Fae. Keir barely looked at her unless it was to offer a look of contempt and disgust. If this was war, their end, then she would savour whatever good she could while it was hers to have. 

It was after the chime of midnight when Andromache slipped past her, with nothing more than a sideways glance that even Morrigan barely recognised, yet the intention was there. 

The Fae counted her breaths. 

Five minutes.

Then ten.

Morrigan excused herself from the young noble man she had been speaking to, needing some air because the wine had absolutely gone to her head and she made a show of giving a flustered giggle as swept from the hall. 

The corridor was quiet, empty or so it seemed as Mor slipped from the festivities. It was from a side hall to her right that Andromache appeared from, grabbing the Fae’s wrist and dragging her from her path. The Queen’s giggle was tipsy as she pressed Mor against the stone wall, finding her lips in a giddy kiss, winding her arms around the woman’s neck. 

For a moment, Mor was more than happy to return the gesture, looping her arms around Andromache’s waist, dragging her close as she kissed her deeply, fingers curling around the expensive fabrics which clad her exquisite body. 

“You're drunk,” Mor finally murmured against her mouth, pulling back with a grin, captivated by the answering smile on the other woman's slightly swollen lips. 

“I'm not. I'm just happy,” That was a lie. The Queen wasn't beyond functioning, but she had certainly been enjoying the wine. Lips pressed to Morrigan's neck, her collar bone, a hand dipping under the split at the leg of her dress, tracing the bare skin. Apparently, she was tipsy enough to throw away the inhibitions that kept their moments solely to private quarters. Despite Mor also having enjoyed her fair share of wine, she was less inclined to let her guard down like that, especially not with the visitors who occupied the main hall.

“Let's go back to my room,” Mor hummed against the shell of her ear, shuddering as fingers slid between her legs, tracing along the delicate underclothes beneath her dress. The Fae twisted her fingers within the golden curls of the Queen who seemed to barely acknowledge the words, nipping a trail along Mor's pale skin, along the tops of her breasts baiting a soft moan from the woman.

“I've wanted to do this all night,” Andromache whispered against Morrigan's skin, and the Fae had to bite down on the groan which bubbled into her throat.

She heard the footsteps before the scent reached her and Mor stiffened, gripping the Queen's wrist and dragging her hand from under her skirt. “Stop,” She hushed, and Andromache pulled her head back, peering up at the other woman with a confused fluttered on her dark features. 

“What's wrong-” 

Mor held up a hand, cutting the Queen off in a gesture for silence. It was Fae, that much she could tell but it wasn't Azriel, the scent wasn't right. A wave of panic washed over her and she grabbed Andromache's hand, dragging her further down the hall. 

“Morrigan,” That sing song voice sent a shudder down her spine. It was Gregor. Her father's guard. “Where are you, little bird?”

There was a storage cupboard at the end of the hall and Mor practically shoved the Queen into it who immediately opened her mouth to protest but before she could speak, the Fae cut in. “Stay here. Stay quiet. No matter what. Please,” There was a pause, and Andromache nodded slowly, she understood. 

Leaving the door open a crack, Mor quickly threw up a glamour, hiding the Queen's warmth, her scent before slinking back down the hall, just as Gregor appeared in front of her. “Now, now, what are you doing out here all alone, Morrigan?” The man was smiling like a wolf, his black eyes glistening as he stood, bulking and intimidating, blocking her way. 

“I needed some air,” The words were dismissive as she made to push past him only to be stopped by a rough hand gripping her arm, pulling her back to the spot in front of him, right beside where she and Andromache had been mere moments before.

“Too much to drink? You do seem to be enjoying your time with the new human pets,” The look in Gregor's eyes was dangerous, like a predator that had caught it's prey, but she would not be helpless, would not let him get to her. 

“I'm fine, Gregor. Leave me be,” Mor snapped her arm from his hold, her chin tilted upwards, shoulders back, looking him in the eyes. She would not flinch. 

“Have you traded in your loyalties for the humans? And here I thought you couldn't sink lower than the cocks of the Illyrian bastards you so favour.” 

The words were like a slap. 

It had been so long since everything that had happened with Eris and her father. Time spent not thinking about it. So to have it flung at her, even by an asshole like Gregor, it hurt, and it showed on the features of her face. 

“Do not speak to me like that.”

“I'll speak to you how I wish. Tell me, if you're not going to fuck the human men who are hounding after you, are you planning on bedding the Shadowsinger? He looked ready to bed you then and there when you swept into the hall earlier.”

“That is none of your business, now get out of my way,” Morrigan snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger, gaze narrowed as she shoved the man roughly and he staggered back a few steps.

“Do not touch me, whore,” The word was spat like a dagger at her and when she stormed forward, Gregor threw an arm out, stopping her in her tracks and pushing her back, the sweeping skirts catching under her feet, tripping her so she fell without any delicacy, landing on the hard stone floor. Pain flared in her wrist, and a trickle of embarrassment as Gregor's low laugh rattled through the hall way.

“Get away from her.”

The voice was masculine, cold and deep, filled with quiet rage.

Azriel stood behind Gregor, shadows flaring from him, his features contorted in dark fury, siphons glowing dangerously. It was those that the darkbringer eyed nervously, jaw tight, looking like he was torn between fleeing and driving a fist into Azriel's face.

“I have no desire to touch that,” The man spat, glancing towards more as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, Gregor merely smoothed his hand over his tunic, taking a few steps towards Azriel, then just past him. “Hopefully, your little friend, Cassian, right? Didn't die with the rest of his battalion. I'm sure you'll both want to compare notes on how tight she is.”

Darkness exploded in the hall and Mor flinched away from the power which danced around her. 

When it cleared, Gregor was unconscious and bleeding against a wall as Azriel strode towards her, offering out a scarred hand. Mor took it, letting herself be hauled to her feet. 

“Are you okay?” Az's brows were knit together in a deep brow as he looked her over for any sign of injury.

“I'm fine. I'm okay. Is he?”

“He's not dead. Though I'm tempted to correct that.”

“Don't. He's not worth the fallout,” The last thing Morrigan wanted was for Orion to punish Azriel for protecting her and killing one of Keir's men. She didn't want her father to have that chance to hurt the man. A little sigh rattled from Mor as she wrapped her arms around Azriel, hugging him, a silent thank you. He understood. Knew what she had been through. What it was to have those things thrown at her. “Thank you.”

“You're sure you're okay?” Azriel pulled back from her, the shadows building around him slightly again, acknowledging Mor's nod of reassurance. 

“I'm okay, Az. Can you...just get rid of him? I want to go to bed.”

There was no refusal from Azriel, who merely turned to grab the man by his arm and with ease, hoisted him up. There was a protesting gurgle from Gregor, though he didn't struggle as Azriel winnowed them both away, to deposit the man wherever he saw fit. 

A small sigh escaped Morrigan as she tried to compose herself, ignoring the tremble in her hand and the quick, rapid pound of her heartbeat. Readying herself to retrieve Andromache, but as she turned, the Queen was already standing at the other end of the hallway, a million questions in her amber eyes.

The glamour had kept her from being found but it hadn't stopped her from hearing what Gregor had said. From the spiteful, horrible names and lies about her, about Azriel. The Queen had been shown snippets of a past Mor had concealed from almost everyone around her. Of the world she belonged to beyond the palace and the place she had come from.

There was a growing nausea in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the wine as she took a few uncertain steps towards Andromache.

“Can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who has been leaving comments/kudos. It's really been keeping me going knowing people are reading and enjoying my take on this pair and their story. I appreciate it all! <3


	5. Story of my Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought you had no family other than your cousin and your uncle?" 
> 
> Andromache's voice was hoarse in the silence of her private chambers. The golden queen paced slightly as she stripped away layers of her beautiful, elaborate dress, the fabric rustling as she stepped out of the heavy skirts. Morrigan sat perched on the edge of the woman's large bed, still tucked within the fabric of her own gown.
> 
> "I don't. Not exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but I'm looking to push this fic closer to it's end, as much as I am enjoying writing it. I wanted to get into Mor's past again, because if there's something ACOWAR left out, it was Mor, her story and her happiness and I just needed to have some of that in my life.

"I thought you had no family other than your cousin and your uncle?" 

Andromache's voice was hoarse in the silence of her private chambers. The golden queen paced slightly as she stripped away layers of her beautiful, elaborate dress, the fabric rustling as she stepped out of the heavy skirts. Morrigan sat perched on the edge of the woman's large bed, still tucked within the fabric of her own gown.

"I don't. Not exactly."

Since the incident in the hallway with Gregor and Azriel, Mor had been trying to explain to the Queen what had happened to bring her here. Why her father's guard had said the things he had. Yet it meant remembering, meant admitting to all the things which had happened to her, and that wasn't easy. Part of why she liked the mortal realm was the detachment from that side of her past.

But this Queen...she wasn't just a body to warm her bed. Wasn't just her first taste of a female lover. Not anymore. And she deserved to know. Deserved some explaination. 

"My father. My family...they disowned me."

Andromache went still. Her dress lay discarded and she'd slid on a soft nightgown which swept to her ankles. Amber eyes lined with kohl rested on her. 

"Why?"

It was a curious question with a softness to her voice. The woman wanted to know but didn't want to push. Mor appreciated that gentleness. 

"It's a long story."

The golden Queen crossed the room, sitting next to Mor on the bed, close but not intimidating. 

"I've got time."

And Mor had a feeling the Queen would wait. Even if she didn't have that time. She would spend every minute on that bed by her side until she was ready to talk. The Fae gave a small nod, inhaling deeply to steady herself.

"It started when I was seventeen. When my powers first manifested..."

\-----------------------------------------

Morrigan told her everything. 

The price of her virginity that came with her display of power, the arranged marriage to Eris, his reputation as a man, and the fear, not of him, but of losing herself if she ever admitted how she truly felt.

There was a grave expression of understanding on Andromache's features as she listened. Her full lips forced into a tight line, her brows furrowed, lines creasing her forehead. Arranged marriages weren't unknown to her, in fact, three of the other Queens had been entered into such unions. It was possible she would end up in a similar position one day.

Yet Mor's story continued, a hesitation this time as a quiver of emotion entered the Fae's voice, like every part of her rebelled against the memories of her past.

The Queen listened as she explained about the Illyrian camp and the decision she'd settled upon, as she admitted to taking one of those Illyrians to bed, ruining her value, making her impure in the eyes of her family and whoever wished to buy her. 

There was a quiet noise of protest from Andromache when Mor admitted what had happened when her family had found out, tears gleaming in those amber eyes but also realisation. Questions answered about the scar on her abdomen the Queen had often lingered on during their private moments together, never knowing it had been caused by the nail driven into her womb by her family who had beaten her to a pulp before dumping her on the boarder of another Court. Discarded as someone else's problem.

"I would have died," Mor's voice was soft, cracked, yet she didn't stop, even as she noted the dampness of her cheeks from the tears she didn't realize had fallen. "For a long time, I wished I had. Azriel found me. Naked and unconscious, with the nail still in me. Brought me back to be healed. My family, they didn't care, they've wanted nothing to do with me since."

Whore. 

Gregor had spat the word at her, but it was a chant her father, her brothers, even her mother had snarled at her. The only title she would ever gain from them after she'd let Cassian fuck her. 

"I knew something was wrong the day they arrived," Andromache murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet each syllable felt like a drum beat in the silent chamber. "You changed the minute that man stepped into the room. It was subtle but I saw it. I just never imagined..." The woman trailed off. She didn't need to say anymore. There were no words for this. 

Mor reached a trembling hand to brush the lingering tears from her cheeks. Crying felt like losing to them again. Like they still held some power over her. 

"I was in a dark place for a very long time. I fought to find the strength to keep going. Yet seeing him...listening to Gregor. It was like years of healing just crumbled away."

A beat of silence.

"You're not weak, Mor. They do not own you."

A ghost of a smile. She had told someone. Told someone out of choice and it hadn't broken her. Hadn't made Andromache look at her any differently. It only gave the woman a better understanding.

"No, they don't."

Another pause.

"The man with the shadows. Azriel? Is he the one...did you...was he..."

Andromache was struggling and it took Mor a moment to realise what it was the woman was trying to ask. 

"No, it wasn't Azriel," It was a fair assumption, the Shadowsinger was the only Illyrian the Queen had encountered from Mor's Inner Circle. And she knew how Azriel tended to be with her.

"But he is in love with you," The Queen didn't even voice it as a question, but rather like it was fact and Morrigan had to admit, she didn't give enough credit to those watching amber eyes which saw more than most mortals paid attention to. 

"Something like that," Mor considered lying, bluffing that Azriel didn't have feelings for her but with Andromache, she didn't feel the need to veil the truth. Not anymore. She'd opened a well that she'd hidden within her for so long, it was almost a relief to speak the truth. 

"He doesn't know?"

"It's complicated," And it was. The way she felt. Trying to explain that when she knew how Azriel felt. Mor didn't like the idea of breaking his heart. Not to mention what she had with the Queen wasn't a regular romance. With things as they were, people knowing about them could be dangerous or more than one level.

Allies they might be, but humans and Fae didn't have relationships. Even physical encounters would be looked on with disgust by most Fae.

"I understand," Andromache reached over, taking Mor's hand within her own, squeezing her fingers gently, the Fae feeling instantly soothed by the touch. "You're easy to fall in love with."

Heat flooded Morrigan's face, her heart leaping into her throat. That soft admission, this one didn't make her want to flee. It terrified her, yes. But in a good way. If there was such a thing.

"You don't need to hide from me."

And she didn't. Truth sang from the Queen's words. And Mor couldn't find the words as she leaned in, pressing her lips to the other woman's. 

Maybe she didn't know what would come of them by the end of this war. Maybe she had no answers in regards to their future. Yet they had that moment. Had each other. 

Andromache didn't protest as she was pushed back on the sizeable bed, her Fae lover straddling her hips, feeding everything she couldn't say into the kiss they shared. 

\-----------------------------------------

It wasn't often that they stayed in the Queen's chambers. There were less risks in hiding away in Morrigan's rooms, and o the few occasions they had strayed to Andromache's room, Mor had usually left in the middle of the night, winnowing outside the door before any one could find her.

Last night had been different. 

The Fae had made no attempt to leave and the other woman certainly hadn't insist she go. They'd lay in bed together. Kissing, talking, fucking and occasionally drifting to sleep before waking up to repeat the process. It was intimacy and it was wonderful.

When Mor finally dragged on the stifling fabric of her gown, the sun was creeping higher in the sky, and there was life about the castle. The servants had already started the day, and the Fae was all too aware that soon she'd have to meet with the other Queens and her High Lord as would Andromache. 

“Get ready, you can't use me as an excuse to be late to the meeting,” Mor hummed teasingly, her blond hair mused and messy as it fell down over her shoulders, her gown gently rustling as it scraped over the ground with each step she took to the door. 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” The golden Queen was wrapped in her velvet gown, looking ruffled and tired, but content, a step behind the other woman as she followed her to the door. It creaked quietly as it opened, the sentries she'd dismissed last night no where to be found and the hall was empty at a glance. “Come see me later,” Andromache leaned against the wall as Mor swept into the hall.

They weren't normally this at ease, at peace with what they were to each other, but something had changed last night, and it was too easy to get lulled into the natural feeling of what they had.

“I will, don't worry, Highness,” The Fae smirked, stepping forward to pull the mortal Queen into a kiss. It was brief but there was intent within the linger press of their lips and Andromache trailed her fingers along Mor's cheek, stroking down over her jaw and neck before they broke apart with lazy smiles. 

“Good day, lady Morrigan.”

“And to you, Highness.”

Morrigan bowed, and outside the wards placed on the rooms, within a moment, she was gone. 

The golden Queen watched the space for a moment, where the Fae had been, a far away smile on her full lips.

“In the name of the damned.”

The soft female voice was like a crack of lightening through the hallways she had believed to be deserted, unknowing. Celeste, one of the older Queens was standing pale faced in the centre of the hall. Evidently the Queen had thought to wake her younger royal in wake of the meeting with the High Lord, and had arrived just in time to see her bid her farewell to Mor.

Andromache's smile dropped into an expression of shock and horror, knowing that the excuses bubbling to her lips would not be enough to suffice the other woman. 

“What in hell's name was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter as always!


	6. Fragments of a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't be ridiculous. You think an immortal has any desire to be tied to a human? You are barely a whisper in her long life," Celeste shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long, exasperated sigh. "These are dangerous times, Andromache. Everything rests on this Treaty. We have so few allies in the Fae world, we cannot damage that with some childish affair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between these last few chapters! Work has been hectic and I've mostly been writing when I can on my phone, but hopefully you all will still read and not have got sick of reading.

"How could you be so foolish?"

Celeste's voice was a sharp snap in the quiet chamber of the younger Queen's bedroom.

Andromache was perched on the edge of her bed, the very bed that her and Morrigan had tumbled out of mere moments ago. The older Queen was pacing back and fourth, her face schooled into a harsh line, and for the first time in many years, Andromache felt like a child again, scolded and reprimanded by her fellow royal.

"I'm not being foolish."

"You are a mortal Queen, Andromache. Human. And you are...conducting some sordid tryst with a Fae."

"It isn't sordid!"

"Enough!" The shout made the golden Queen shrink back, lowering her gaze guiltily. "I have been quiet for years. Every time you disappeared with a noble woman or a servant, I was quiet. I let you have that because you were young and you deserved that freedom," Andromache had always known the other Queen had some idea of what she was like, of her private life. "But you are twenty. And you're the only Queen not married or betrothed. This...infatuation, it cannot continue."

"It isn't an infatuation!"

"You mean to try and tell me you love this Fae?"

"And if I do?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You think an immortal has any desire to be tied to a human? You are barely a whisper in her long life," Celeste shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long, exasperated sigh. "These are dangerous times, Andromache. Everything rests on this Treaty. We have so few allies in the Fae world, we cannot damage that with some childish affair."

"It isn't childish. Is it so difficult to believe that Morrigan cares for me?"

"Perhaps she does. But there is a bigger picture here. Part of the title you hold is making sacrifices. Sacrifices we have all made to maintain these lands and care for our people."

"But-"

"No. No excuses. You will end it with her or I will."

Andromache's amber eyes snapped up to meet the cold blue of Celeste's. The woman was unwavering and there wasn't a moment where she doubted that threat. The Queen would reveal their relationship, and if the others found out...

"The meeting is in an hour. Dress. Don't be late. And think about what I said."

The golden Queen didn't respond, tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks, but she wouldn't cry. Wouldn't show weakness.

"I'm doing this because I care about you, Andromache. Because this can't end well."

"Just leave me be, Celeste."

The Queen hesitated, sighing softly before she stepped to the door and left the room, shutting the door behind her, leaving Andromache to try and gather the pieces of her shattered heart.

\---------------------------------------

The meeting was as successful as it could be. The preliminary Treaty was presented to the High Lord who voiced his concerns. There were certain Fae who would not be happy with losing their human slaves. Morrigan had predicted as much. Not to mention they would have issues of land, and creating a boarder, if the Fae would obey boundaries without physical restraint.

Orion promised to do what he could. To speak to the other High Lords and deliver the results.

The sooner they got an agreement. The sooner they could end this war which raged on in battlefields across the whole of the realm.

Keir did not agree.

That wasn't a surprise either.

Mor barely had a moment to say goodbye to Azriel before they parted ways. Leaving as quickly as they had arrived. The only relief being that her father went too and she hoped not to see him for a very long time if it was a possibility.

The sun was setting by the time the castle was void of the Night Court congregation.

Andromache hadn't been present at dinner after the meeting had broken apart.

Mor had taken a moment to change, clad in the soft, vibrant fabrics of her Court before making her way out into the halls.

The guards were stationed outside the Queen's room again, though they offered an incline of their head in a friendlier greeting. They didn't try and stop her this time as she knocked politely and waited for the answer within before pushing the door open and slipping inside.

The golden Queen was perched at her dressee, still clad in the expensive folds of her regal dress as she brushed at the strands of her hair. Andromache glanced at her through the mirror, offering a flicker of a smile as Mor let the door close behind her.

"You weren't at dinner," The Fae commented as she approached the woman at the dresser, who didn't hesitate as the brush was taken from her and Morrigan instead took over combing through the thick mane of gold hair. "Everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything is fine."

Andromache didn't meet her gaze as Mor looked at her through the mirror.

Something was off. The Queen's demeanour alone was different and it sent a flutter of worry through the Fae. What had gone wrong since this morning?

"The High Lord seemed content before he left. Hopefully this war will be over soon," Mor leaned down, brushing her mouth along the delicate curve of Andromache's dark neck, tasting the soft skin with gentle peppering kisses.

A reluctant shrug was enough to make her stop, pulling back with a confused frown, the Queen's gaze lowered, her full mouth tight. "What's going on?"

The tension within the silence was palpable. 

“What are we doing?” The question was so soft, spoken with such reluctance, that even the Fae doubted she heard it for a moment. There was a heaviness behind those words, a meaning that hadn’t quite been voiced, and perhaps one that would rather remain silent.

“Well, nothing right now, but that can be fixed,” Mor tried to speak with light amusement, leaning over the woman to drop the hairbrush down onto the dress, kissing the side of Andromache’s head, but she was met by the golden Queen rising to her feet.

“I don’t mean that. I mean this. Us. What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a Fae. An immortal Fae. And I’m a human. A Queen. A woman. Your people are killing mine, would see humans as slaves, and we’re acting like this is normal. Like it could be normal, but it isn’t. It won’t ever be.”

“Whoa, where has this come from?” Morrigan took a step towards Andromache whose features were etched in a tight scowl, lines of distress and panic shadowing that beautiful face. And as Mor approached, she fell back, away from her touch, her comfort. “Did something happen?”

A pause.

Each silence felt longer than the last.

“We’ve both been so foolish,” The woman whispered, shaking her head and Mor was certain that tears shone in those striking amber eyes. “We’re putting everything at risk for this…affair.”

“Affair?” The hurt was evident in Mor’s voice as she spat the word. “This morning you were telling me you were falling in love with me and now we’re a mere affair? Is this a joke?”

Andromache didn’t need to say that it was far from it.

“The other Queens wish for me to marry. To be betrothed. Like I should have been long ago.”

Mor had known. Of course, she’d know. It would always be expected of a royal. To marry, to carry on the bloodline. The other Queens were either married or engaged to be as such, already beginning their families and ancestries, but this woman was different, was like her. “Is that what you want? To marry a man they have chosen for you?” Silence. A refusal to look at her. “Is it?”

“No,” The word was soft, broken as the Queen shook her head. “No, I don’t want that. But I have a duty, Morrigan. We both do. And this thing between us could ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

“So that’s it?”

“I’m human, Mor. You’d only ever be wasting time with me anyway.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste. Never a waste.”

The golden Queen visibly flinched at the tender whisper and pain in Morrigan’s words.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Haven’t wondered what will happen when this war ends, even if we’re victorious. We’ve both been there during the Treaty meetings. The humans won’t live unprotected on the boarder of Fae lands, and if your High Lord was right, then a wall may be the only-“

“They won’t build a wall.”

“Won’t they? I know you’re not a fool, Mor. When you think with your head and not your heart, how else will this end?”

“I could stay. I would stay.”

“Away from your home? Your friends? When this war ends…everything will be different. You know it as much as I do.”

Now it was Mor’s words to be silent. To muse over the gravity of everything. Of what the Queen was saying, and everything that she knew was true. What she had silenced in her mind for as long as she could, not wanting to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of reality. Yet it had always been there. Waiting in the wings.

“We have to end it, Mor.”

It was like a punch to the gut and Morrigan felt the breath forced from her, tears stinging her eyes. “Is that what you want?”

“It's what needs to happen.”

No, no it wasn't. Surely, they could work it out. Find away around this. Be happy together, war or not.

“Andromache...”

“I want you to go. Please.”

Mor mustered a small nod, blinking back her tears as she stepped passed the Queen, hand lingering on the handle. “I fell in love with you too, you know. A little more every day.”

If there was a reply, she didn't wait for one, wrenching open the door and winnowing the minute she had breached the wards before she let the last of her façade crumble.

\---------------------------------------

They barely spoke for a month.

Morrigan couldn't stand to look at the golden Queen without her heart breaking a little more each time. Yet when she did, Andromache was veiled by a sadness that didn't suit the beautiful features of her face. Those amber eyes were dull, and a smile was so rarely found on that perfect mouth.

The woman missed her lover, desperately. Missed the scent of her skin, her kiss, that chime of a laugh, missed everything about her.

Yet she had been right.

As much as that had devastated her, the Queen was right.

What they had could never survive.

But that didn't stop her from wishing. Wanting. 

Then the letters had arrived from her High Lord.

The introduction of the Treaty to the other Courts hadn't been going as smoothly as anticipated, and while he was trying to play peace maker, the fighting was building. Rhysand had been fighting on a relentless front. Cassian had been shipped somewhere else on the continent, and she was needed along with her men to join them.

This was it.

What it had all been leading too.

Morrigan had no choice but to rally her men almost immediately. They would leave behind a skeletal force of men, in case anyone dared attack the palace, and the High Lord was sending Azriel to be placed temporarily with the Queen's. He would be able to warn them quickly, while relaying whatever information Orion wanted him to search for while he was there. There was always multiple reasons for Azriel being somewhere, and the High Lord rarely let the Shadowsinger drift far from his side.

What it did mean, however, was that she was leaving. 

And there was a high possibility she wouldn't be back.

Ever.

That's why she found herself outside of the Queen's room, clad fully in her Illyrian leathers. Swords strapped across her back, daggers at her hips and one in her boot. In her hand however, was a small package, wrapped in silky fabric and tied with a red bow.

It took a few encouraging knocks before Andromache's voice sounded and she was allowed to enter.

The Queen sat a little straighter in her chair by the window. A book lay open in her lap, but she hadn't been looking at it, not when Mor had entered at least. Andromache took in her appearance. The leathers, the weapons, the expression on her face, and it was like everything crashed down on her. “You're leaving.”

“I am. My High Lord requires me and my men elsewhere while he works the Treaty with the other courts.”

“I see.”

“I wanted to say goodbye. And to give you something.”

Andromache opened her mouth to speak, but words failed as Morrigan crossed the room, setting the small present on the open book. “I don't know what will happen. How this fight will go or if I'll ever see you again,” There was a tightness in her throat that she fought. She wouldn't let emotion get the better of her. Not again. She'd promised herself. “I hope you find happiness,” Leaning down, the woman brushed a soft kiss to the Queen's forehead, letting it linger for a moment, before she tore herself away.

The Fae woman didn't stop as she stalked back to the door, amber eyes following her, dropping only for a moment to the small gift in her lap. The ribbon slid away as Andromache untied it, pulling open the soft fabric. It was a necklace. A black stone on a stunning gold chain, yet when she lifted it and held it up, she saw it wasn't black at all. It was alive. The night sky swirled within it, shimmering stars and a hue of purples and blues, the note in the fabric the only thing able to distract her from the hypnotising piece of jewellery. 

'May you never forget me. As long as you wear this, my heart is yours.'

Andromache was out of her seat in a heartbeat, the necklace clutched in her hand and the book clattering to the floor as she raced for the door, into the hallway. 

Other the guards, it was empty.

And when she checked, so was Morrigan's room.

The woman was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued support on this story. It's the biggest undertaking of a fic I've had in a long time and I've had such a lovely response. You guys are the best <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm hoping to get this updated as often as possible. Any feedback would be appreciated <3


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